I was a music snob, and it would be fair to say that I still am a music snob. Either way, I didn’t like 311 when they came out, or more accurately, when the “Down” single came out in ’96. And this song was everywhere, and it drove me nuts. I wasn’t opposed to the rap/metal genera when it was happening, just you know, some bands were better at it than others. But, as I have gotten older, and mellowed, I can say that my animosity toward 311 has subsided. They’re not my thing, but that’s not to say that they make bad music and make their fans happy. So, in that regard, I have come to respect “Down” as a song.
The “earworm” of this song is the “chill” at the very start, which I still find very funny and plays over and over. The other one is the chorus, though I cannot tell you what the lyrics of it are, it’s the melody of the chorus that gets stuck in my head.
The other day, as we were putting together the kid’s costume for Halloween, she asked me, what did I dress up as for Halloween? At first this seemed like such an easy question to answer, and I started to respond that I went as a pirate, a cowboy, a California Raisin, Indiana Jones… and… and then I couldn’t remember. I drew a blank.
I could remember being a pirate when my family lived in Alabama, which would have made me five. Then I remembered the first Halloween in Texas, a cowboy – real shock there. I know that I did the California Raisin thing in 6th grade because there was a girl I liked and she thought it would be cute if I went as that, which I think shows you how desperate I was to get any female attention. And then Indiana Jones I did in 7th grade to coincide with Last Crusade which had come out that Summer, but it was also my last Halloween because I did feel too old to be out Trick or Treating.
That leaves a gap in my memory from 1st to 5th grade.
Now, I remember going Trick or Treating with my friends over those years. I remember the old guy who gave out pennies, and the house that gave out toothbrushes. There was the could that gave apples, and the family that wrapped Bible verses around mini Snickers bars. And there was the family that turned their home into a Haunted House that you could go through. I remember the junior high boys that would throw eggs, toilet paper, and water balloons at people. I remember families being out, and the police driving slowly through our neighborhood, keeping an eye out, making sure it was safe, and trying to catch those boys on their bikes. I remember the years my mom took me and my friends out, and the times my dad took us.
But nothing when it comes to my costumes from those years. It’s a blank, while also it feels like it’s on the tip of my tongue, but still won’t materialize.
It’s a very strange feeling to not be able to remember this. Like, I know it was a big deal dressing up, and taking time to figure out my costume. I know my mom would help me put it together… but I just can’t remember.
Rather on the last minute, the kid got invited to a slumber over the weekend. Great for the kid as she is getting to the age where she’s not so keen on spending every minute with us. So, her getting a night away from her folks was a huge victory!
And it wasn’t too shabby for us either. With the kid gone on a Saturday night meant that we could have a fully guilt free date night! And you know what, we looked up and found a new place to go. A place with cocktails, and an adventurous menu, and it wasn’t too far from us up in Northern Harlem. It was perfect.
Then it rolled around to time to start getting ready, which caused us to admit that we really just wanted to order out and watch a movie on the couch. Yes. We had the opportunity to go out, and we decided not to because we didn’t want to.
This has led to wonder of the rest of the weekend; are we getting too old? We had the opportunity to go out and do something we like doing, which is trying new places to eat, and the restaurant wasn’t far away. Not like we had to go downtown or anything. And this wasn’t cute “Let’s stay in a snuggle on the couch” even. This was ordering food and sitting on the sofa in silence as we watched a movie.
I would hate to think that we, a couple in our late forties, can’t muster the energy to go out and get and get drunk anymore.
The kid had a half day at school, so she was home by 1pm. Before I went and got her, I did all the tasks and errands that I needed to do; balanced the checkbook, did the dishes, plugged in and ran the AC’s, got the kid from school, and made lunch. I even wrote in my journal, and did a good bit of reading – caught up on some flash pieces I have been meaning to read and finished a book of short stories.
The kid had some homework, and we both sat down on the couch to do it. I don’t do the homework, I’m more along for moral support, and encouragement. Anyway, as I was sitting there, being that I’m not needed a whole lot, I decided that I should start reading another book. I got about 2 pages into it, and I fell asleep. Now, it wasn’t a deep sleep, but it was 45 minutes. I only woke up because the kid nudged me to ask if I was sleeping.
But for the life of me, I haven’t been able to get myself back in gear. It’s like I’m walking through sand now. I’m so sluggish and foggy brained. I had plans for the second half of the afternoon, but I can’t seem to focus. Honestly, it’s taken me an hour to get myself to just sit down and do this.
Hell, I promised the kid we’d go running in the park, and I still have to make dinner. I thought I was going to review a story but that doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards.
I swear, if I nap for fifteen minutes, I am solid and refreshed. But anything over that amount of time, it’s like a crap shoot – God only knows how I’m going to react.
(The short story “Marseille” by Ayşegül Savaş appeared in the April 7th, 2025 issue of The New Yorker.)
Illustration by Virginie Morgand
Old friends are the best friends you can have! There, I said it, and I am willing to die on this completely uncontroversial hill! See, I know that my old friends, some that I have known since grade school, have made my life better, funnier, and have given me perspective in immeasurable ways. Mainly because we have grown older together. Reading “Marseille” by Ayşegül Savaş reminded me of the virtues of having old friends.
Here’s an Overly Simplistic Synopsis: Amina, who recently had a baby, goes out for a weekend in Marseille with two of her old university friends, Alba and Lisa.
I try to keep an open mind, and not to jump to conclusions when I start reading a story, but by the time I made it to the third paragraph, and read that this was going to be a story about three old friends going away for a weekend, the cliché and trope sirens started going off in my head. And I can admit that I was totally wrong for doing that. Though, I feel that this “red herring” of a situation was part of Ayşegül Savaş’ plan all along, lulling us in to the story.
The story’s opening paragraph describes how Amina and her husband have been trying to give each other space and time away from each other, in an attempt to reclaim their lives, “which had been on hold since the baby was born.” So, from the start, the premise of the work is reclaiming one’s self, even after change has occurred. And as we follow Amina and her friends around for these few days, that theme is repeated, in which change is coming, or has already occurred.
And Ayşegül Savaş handles this theme very smartly. Again, so many times this story could have fallen into the land of middle-aged people tropes, but it never goes there. For one reason, our three characters aren’t that old, perhaps just entering into their thirties. The other way this theme is handled well is that Amina comes into contact with three women, two in the setting of the story and one as a memory, over the stretch of the piece; the first is a new mother on the train out to Marseille, the next is an older woman that explains that desire goes aware after giving birth but will return, the third is a young woman on the ferry ride. It’s as if Amina encounters her present self, her future self, and her past self – these interactions don’t represent warnings of the future, or regrets of the past, but are more like mile posts signaling the changes that happen in life. But what I appreciated most that this was a story about three friends who discover that they have changed by getting older, and still remain friends.
In the end, “Marseille” is a story about that moment that we all know is coming – that moment when we get the first hint that we aren’t young anymore.
